Today we were listening to Pandora. . . . Flogging Molly Station. Some inane talent-less hack was babbling that he would rather sit on the couch and do nothing with the object of his hearts desire than to accomplish anything else in life. Except he said so much more monosyllabically. He actually referenced the Simpsons, people. Wonder what the kick back on that was?
The point, however, is not that the song was stupid. I listen to punk music, it is full of stupid. The point is that girl child asked what the singer meant about wanting to do nothing with the person he was singing to. I said , well he loves her so much that he would rather just hang out with her than do anything else. To which she replied. . "Mama, you don't know he was singing to a girl." Inside I burst into a million tiny shards of happy and love and pride. Not the gay kind, the maternal kind. Outside I said, "You are right, I don't, he could be singing to a guy." She said, "'Cause people love all kinds of people."
My sweet girl, who is not old enough to remember a life other than one where mama was with dadda and only dadda, has absorbed enough of our gentle teachings that she can correct my dating stereotypes. Like many children of my generation, I do not think white boyfriend when I see a white girl. I do however, usually think boyfriend Even though I don't always live that life. My baby, though just sees love. . . in a really bad punk song.
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